


The Fragile Balance Between Darkness and Light

by monsieur-hadrien (armanikenma)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Bad self talk, But that's canon, Established Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Established Relationship, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, I wish Harry would love himself as much as Draco does, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Professional Quidditch, Quidditch Player Harry Potter, Tea is a necessity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27220123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armanikenma/pseuds/monsieur-hadrien
Summary: Draco worries when Harry doesn't come back home after practice, so he goes to find him.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 254
Collections: Harry Potter





	The Fragile Balance Between Darkness and Light

**Author's Note:**

> What i listened to while writing this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=600mOX_kp8s

It’s not often that Draco wakes up to an empty bed, not since the middle of 8th year. Not without prior warning, at least. Harry is usually quite good about letting him know when he won’t be coming home. Whether he’s away for a visit to Aunt Andromeda’s to visit his godson or for out-of-town quidditch matches that end a bit too late for apparition to be safe, Harry always lets Draco know when he doesn't need to wait up for him. Which is why Draco worries for his other half when he wakes in the middle of the night to Harry’s side of the bed (the left side, obviously) empty and cold.

***

It’s not often that Harry doesn’t want to fall asleep, not since the middle of 8th year. Not without reason, at least. Draco is usually quite good at calming his anxiety around sleep. Whether it be listening to him talk about his dark, locked cupboard at the Dursleys or about his death, how at first it felt like the light had been swallowed by a black hole that would take him next. Draco always knows when Harry needs to talk and when he just needs to be held as if nothing could ever hurt him again. Which is why Harry worries for his other half as he sits on the battered seat of a swing at the Little Whinging Community Park (abandoned at this time of night, obviously) alone and cold.

***

Draco doesn’t wait around for Harry to come to their room. He exits and moves to the sitting room of Grimmauld Place where he glances at the grandfather clock with the names of their jigsaw family against the wall: it was a gift from Molly and Arthur for their wedding, a gift that had Harry in tears. Thankfully, Draco sees that Harry’s name is not on “mortal peril.” Harry’s clock hand is firmly in the middle of “lost.”

 _That’s okay_ , Draco thinks to himself. _I can work with that_.

***

Harry hears the light pop of apparition to the side of him. Turning, he finds Draco stalking toward him, his blonde hair unmistakable even in the dim, orange light of the streetlamps. At seeing his face, Harry can see Draco let out a strained sigh of relief. His lips turn up at that; it’s nice to be cared about that much, even if he feels terrible about making Draco worry. 

The second Draco reaches his husband, Harry finds himself enveloped in a tight hug, which he wastes no time melting into.

“You gave me a bit of a heart attack, love,” Draco murmurs to Harry’s head that’s currently buried in the nape of his neck.

“‘M sorry,” Harry mumbles, nestling closer to the blonde. Why he thought he could pass up nightly cuddles, he doesn’t know. A travesty, that would have been.

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Draco sighs, not even able to feel mad at that moment. He runs his fingers through Harry’s bird's nest of hair. “We will have to talk about this when we get home, though.”

Harry tenses in Draco’s arms. “Can we talk about it in the morning?”

“Well, if you want to get specific, it’s 3 A.M. So, yeah we can talk about when we get home.”

Harry doesn’t answer, but he hopped down from the swing (his feet didn’t touch the ground while he was sitting. If he didn’t look so miserable, Draco would have told him how adorable he looked) and wraps his arms around Draco’s waist in a death grip, waiting for the unpleasant squeeze of apparition.

***

Harry’s arms are still around Draco when they apparate into the living room, eyes squeezed tight shut, forehead resting atop his husband’s chest. Draco gently quizzes back before suggesting to him, “How about I get some calming drought and I meet you in our room.”

In response, Harry constricts his arms tighter around Draco’s waist and shakes his head vehemently. “‘M donneed that.”

“Tea then?”

Draco knows Harry never says no to tea.

A few beats pass before Harry nods his head, curls bouncing next to his ears. “Stay with you, though.”

As Draco prepares two mugs of chamomile tea, Harry stays no farther than an arm’s length away, watching his every move like a small kitten. While the tea steeps, Harry seizes the opportunity to hug Draco from the side. The other takes this in stride, wrapping one hand around his waist and the other tracing patterns on top of Harry's scarred hand.

I must not tell lies. _What hippogriff shit,_ Draco thinks. Anybody who knows Harry at all knows that he would never lie without a reason, much less to harm someone. In his heart of hearts, Draco wholly believes that his husband doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body.

It’s because of this that Draco cannot find it within himself to be angry with Harry, even if he did manage to nearly send him into a full-blown panic. While he may be remarkably reckless, he would never intentionally worry or hurt Draco. But Harry did worry him, and by the (not completely abnormal but definitely over-the-top) clinginess he’s displaying, - not that Draco minds - Harry is feeling incredibly guilty.

Which is why the first thing Draco says after the two settle onto their bed, legs crossed, tea in hand, is, “I’m not cross with you.”

The reaction is immediate; Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I’m still sorry, though. I should have told you where I was,” he murmurs softly, eyes fixed on his mug.

“I would rather you tell me why you felt the need to run all of a sudden. Have your nightmares been worse recently?” Draco hadn’t noticed anything himself, but he can’t rule out the possibility of missing something. While his walls have come down in the past few years, Harry can be quite good at hiding his emotions when he feels he needs to.

Thankfully, Harry shakes his head. “No. It was something at practice today.”

Draco doesn’t say anything. He begins tracing shapes on Harry’s thigh with his free hand, encouraging him to talk when he feels ready. Harry has a far-away look in his eyes as he states, impassive, “I went to that park a lot when I was at the Dursleys’, you know. Nobody came looking for me there.”

He pauses. Then, with white-knuckle grip, Harry brings his mug to his lips with two hands, taking a long sip before beginning, “A bludger hit me in the back of the head. It’s happened a million times before, so I'm not sure why this time it was different.” His voice cracks, barely noticeable over his whispering tone, but Draco catches it. “Then my vision went dark and I couldn't breathe. Thankfully I wasn’t too high up, ‘cause I crashed on my broom.”

Harry stutters, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, “I-I don’t know why, but it felt like I was trapped in the cupboard again. I know it wasn’t real, but I could hear Uncle Vernon calling me an unlovable freak and Dudley jumping on the stairs above me.” He lets out something between a sob and a laugh, sniffling, “Gods, I think I’m going insane.” In one large gulp, Harry finishes his tea in choked embarrassment, tears leaving stains on his dark cheeks.

Draco wastes no time removing Harry’s mug from his hands, setting both of theirs aside on the bedside table, and pulling his husband into a warm hug. He brings his lips to Harry’s temple, giving him a kiss before he whispers into his ear, “You’re not going insane, and you’re not a freak or unloveable. I love you.”

And with that, the dam breaks. Draco holds Harry like that as he cries, rubbing his back in comfort while alternating between phrases of, “It’s okay, love,” and, “I love you.”

They stay like that until Harry’s breath becomes more steady. Neither of them knows exactly what time it is, but they’re both knackered. Draco knows Harry would probably be too embarrassed to ask, so Draco queries, “Would you like a light on tonight?”

Harry, being the stubborn git he is, shakes his head fiercely while blushing. “I don’t need a nightlight, Draco.”

“I know you don’t, my love.” Draco smiles when Harry mopes. He doesn’t protest, however, when Draco summons his patronus, and the comforting hum of magic from the small, blue doe lulls them both to sleep.


End file.
